Chapter 2
Hermione liked being home. Her room was the same it had always been - lavender walls with white bedding and white wood furniture. The books on the shelves were a mix of her childhood favorites like Wind in the Willows and A Wrinkle in Time, and her magical favorites like Hogwarts: A History and Arithmancy For Beginners. Hermione had done some modernizations since getting back for the summer. A little cat tree, something she’d picked up at the pet store, was now sitting under the window next to Hermione’s desk, and Crookshanks was perched on top in a patch of sun. She’d installed another shelf, to the left of the bed, to house more books. And she’d bought a string of twinkling lights to go all the way from her door, up along the edge of her room, around to her bed.
In the last week she’d been home, she’d been thinking about her conversation with Malfoy in the library. The unanswered question was stuck in her head.
It had kept her up some nights, and woken her early on other days. It was one such day, sitting at her desk and watching the sun rise over the distant horizon, Hemione wondered if she should just write to Malfoy and get the answer out of her head, onto paper, and into someone else’s hands. Someone who wouldn’t judge her for it.
She didn’t have a way to write to Malfoy, not unless she could get her hands on an owl, but asking Harry was a bad idea. Asking the Weasley’s would only result in her letter getting lost in the sky. And she didn’t know anyone else to ask. But there were owls at the post office in Diagon Alley she could use, and that seemed like a better idea to her than trying to borrow one.
So she sat and wrote her letter, pausing between sentences to make sure she said what she wanted to without being too wordy or too confusing. When she was done, she set the letter aside to dry and headed down the hall to the bathroom to take a shower and get ready.
Dressed in jeans and a plain sweater, Hermione asked her parents to take her to the nearest tube station. They didn’t mind letting her go into the city - Hermione was a smart, thoughtful girl, and she could handle herself. It was a few stops before she was in the city properly, but then she had to transfer to a bus to get to the right street, the right pub. She nodded her head in acknowledgement to Tom when she got there and headed out back just as quickly as she’d come in the front doors.
And then she was on Diagon Alley. The street was busy, but it wasn’t packed like she would have expected if it were closer to the new school year. Still, Hermione had to take a little moment to figure out where the post office was. She and her parents usually went right through the pub to the bookshop first, and deviating from the norm was a little bit difficult. Breaking habits and all that.
Hermione made her way to the post office all the same. It wasn’t far from the Second Hand Robes shop, across from the Apothecary, and Hermione figured she may as well do some shopping while she was here. After her letter was mailed, of course.
The door tinkled when Hermione pushed it open, jingling a little bell. She looked around the dusty shop for someone who worked there only to find owls perched on the cabinets, the rafters, even the front desk. “Hello?”
“Hello, love,” an older witch called. “One moment!”
Sure enough, less than a minute later, the woman appeared behind the desk, slipping out from a backroom Hermione had overlooked at first. She smiled warmly at Hermione and gave her a little wave.
“Come on, dear, up to the counter. How can I help you?”
“I need to mail a letter,” Hermione said uncertainly. “I don’t have an owl of my own.”
The witch nodded. “Of course. And how long will you need one of ours?”
“Excuse me?” Hermione asked. She had never used a post owl before, and she wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but keeping it for a while had never crossed her mind.
“How this works is pretty simple,” the older witch said, taking pity on the poor girl. “You’ll mail your letter from here, and one of our owls will take it for you. I’m guessing this is a friend you made at school?”
Hermione smiled and nodded.
“Then your friend will write you back. If they don’t have an owl, they can just give their letter to ours and he’ll bring you their response. You two can keep going like that, using one of our owls, until you’re done and then you’ll just send him back here. Or if they have an owl, you can send your letter and they can send him back for you and use their own owl to respond. In which case, you can send your next response with their owl.”
Hermione nodded. She was sure Malfoy had an owl, or at least he had more access to someone who had an owl. It would be easier for them to use his owl, but Hermione didn’t want to assume.
“I don’t know if they have an owl,” Hermione confessed, her smile falling away. “I think they do, but to be safe, let’s just say I’ll need him all summer.”
The old witch pursed her lips. “That’ll be very expensive, love. Let’s say you’ll use him for a month, and if you need him for longer, you can send us a note. Sound good?”
Hermione smiled again and handed over her letter. The witch behind the counter glanced at the address on the envelope and looked up to one of the owls in the rafters. “Hermes!”
A beautiful, golden owl came floating down to the counter. He looked like a barn owl, or maybe some of the local kind, but his coloring was so much more rich. Hermione lifted a finger and stroked down the owl’s back, laughing when he turned to nuzzle into her hand.
“He likes you,” the witch remarked. “Alright, tell him where he needs to go.”
Hermione leaned in, like she was sharing a secret with the owl. “I need you to take a letter to Malfoy Manor. Can you do that?”
The owl nipped playfully at Hermione’s hands as she tied the letter to his leg. Hermione took that as a yes.
“When you’re done, you can come back to my house. 8 Heathgate, Hampstead Garden.”
The owl waited until Hermione was done fastening the letter, then took off through the shop to the open window at the far end of the place, taking off into the sky.
“That’ll be 7 Galleons, 11 Sickles for the month,” the witch said, and Hermione rummaged in her purse for the money. She hoped Malfoy had an owl, otherwise this was going to be an expensive summer indeed.
~~~
Draco read over the note again, his breath nearly caught in his throat. He hadn’t expected to hear from Granger again, least of all in a letter, but here it was. In black and white, ink on smooth, Muggle paper. A letter from Granger.
Prometheus,
The answer to your question from the last day of term - yes. I have imagined every way in which it would make my life easier. I wanted you to know.
I don’t know why I needed to write to you, but I felt you deserved an answer. And I felt that perhaps, you and I might be friends. If that was presumptuous, you can ignore this letter all together, and we will pretend this never happened. If you would like to be friends, however, I’d like to hear from you.
Athena
It was a note, just vague enough Draco could deny who it was from. He knew, of course. Prometheus and Athena both were Greek names, both connected to the story of the first man. Prometheus, the one who carved him from the Earth, and Athena, the one who breathed life into him. It was a scrap of paper, just a few lines, but it was something so intriguing and captivating. Draco couldn’t stop thinking about it, even when he laid down at night for bed. Even when he spent the night playing chess with Theo, or with his mother shopping. Not even four days later.
The letter, much like Miss Granger, was something to remember, something Draco couldn’t stop thinking about.
The letter, much like their encounter in the library, had reawakened butterflies Draco hadn’t felt since his second year in school, when he saw Hermione bent over the book on Basilisks in the library, her hair shining chestnut and red and golden in the candlelight.
~~~
Athena,
Thank you for your consideration in using these names, and for the care you took with your wording. I don’t have people snooping in my mail, but it was thoughtful. And frankly, you make a quite apt comparison to Athena.
Why? I cannot imagine truly wanting to forsake one life for another.
I’ll be concise with my final point here. You and I come from different worlds, and yet, I feel as though you and I might have more in common than either of us knows. I’d like us to be friends.
Prometheus
P.S. Where did you get this owl? I do not recognize him and did not realize you owned an owl.
~~~
Prometheus,
He is not my owl. His name is Hermes, he belongs to the post office in Diagon Alley. I did not know if you had an owl to use yourself, so we have use of him for the rest of the month. I can extend his time with us if need be, just let me know. I am quite fond of him myself.
As for your follow up, I suppose it is because being raised the way I was, it left me quite lonely. For a long time, I believed myself to be strange, and the other kids knew that. They called me strange, too. And as much as I love my parents, they did not understand how to help me. When I finally found a place to fit in, in a world of other children just like me, I found I was strange for a different reason. I have had to work hard to catch up, and still, I find myself behind others. I don’t understand this world, just as I can never fully fit into my childhood world now that I know what it was making me so strange. Does that make sense?
I suppose without full integration - the allowance of mud-men in the wizarding world alongside their mud-blooded children - there must be full segregation - the taking of mud-blooded children into a world without mud-men’s influence at all.
That sounds cruel. I don’t mean it to be. I just cannot fathom a way to make this current system work.
Athena
~~~
Athena,
You don’t have to worry about it any further - I did not have an owl myself, but Mother and Father have been meaning to get me one for a while. Hermes here is quite striking, and he is quick and smart. I’ve contacted the post office and purchased him from them outright. He is now our owl, Athena. Fitting, I think.
As for your point, it wasn’t cruel. I understand perfectly - it sounds like something my father has said before. I hope you don’t mind, but I mentioned your thoughts on the matter, anonymously of course, and he agreed. Without total integration there must be total segregation. And we cannot have full integration.
Much like the Gods could not walk among the men of the world without terrible consequences, I fear we cannot live alongside Muggles safely.
Prometheus.
~~~
Prometheus,
You rich, spoiled boy. Thank you.
Hermes is currently snacking on something in the yard. I do believe he likes his freedom, and now he knows the way between our houses rather well. I trust you and your family will take good care of him, yes? What am I saying, of course you will.
How odd to hear your father and I share thoughts on this topic - I have always believed that Purebloods like him advocated for the annihilation of Muggles and Muggle-borns entirely. Segregation of worlds is a far cry from genocide. Perhaps I’ve been led astray.
Athena
~~~
Athena,
Hermes has a perch on my desk, and a nest on one of the Manor’s more secluded towers. He has his pick of the prey on the grounds, a fact I became acutely aware of when he dropped a half-eaten possum on my desk the other night.
People become nervous around the idea of complete segregation of worlds because of wizards and witches such as yourself. When they see a physical representation of the two in one person, they cannot imagine asking them to cut their very being in two. Families such as the Weasleys, while Pureblood, try to appear kind and understanding, and they advocate quite aggressively against families like mine, who seek to find a better solution than “sometimes breaking the statute of secrecy but only in certain cases”. Have you ever looked into the laws around what happens to a muggle-born witch or wizard who is orphaned?
As for happier topics, do tell what you’ve been doing over the holidays. I assume you’ve read something interesting in the last few weeks?
Prometheus
~~~
Prometheus,
Fascinating, albeit terribly disappointing. While there’s a system of protocol for notifying muggle parents of their magical children, there’s absolutely no process for telling other family. How can that be? If something were to happen to my parents, would the Ministry really force me into a government-run orphanage even with living relatives to take me in? How in the world did Dumbledore get around that for Harry to go and live with his aunt and uncle then?
I’ve not had much stimulating reading this summer. A few Muggle novels, and some movies with my parents, but nothing of note. I wish I had more interesting things to tell you about, but besides a comprehensive history of women in Muggle medicine, I haven’t anything to talk about. I’m so bored, I’d even jump at the chance to work on runes, or arithmancy, or potions. What about you? Surely you’ve had more to do than I.
Athena
~~~
Athena,
I imagine Dumbledore made an exception because he’s Dumbledore, and he doesn’t follow the law most of the time. Certainly never when it interferes with his plans. More likely, however, he got the Minister of Magic to sign off because Potter’s Aunt is an unusual case. She was a Muggle child when Potter’s mother was accepted to Hogwarts, yes? So she would have already known about magic from her sister.
As for the summer, I have found a similar challenge in finding something interesting to engage with. My friends are busy. Greg and Vincent work the summers in their families’ shops, and the Zabinis take the summer at their Italy estate. I spend my summers with my parents and Theodore Nott. He often stays with us for long stretches over the holiday period. I’m sure you’ve seen him in classes, he has a tendency to jump at answering questions just like you. Find attached a parcel - a book on witches who essentially invented the profession of healing magic. In exchange, I’d like to read more about Muggle medicine. Fascinating what they can do without any magic, and what a human can heal from without the aid of potions. Can you imagine cutting another person open, fixing their insides, and they actually survive? It is a marvel of both the doctor and the patient.
Also - would you like to help me on a pet project? You cannot mention it to anyone else. Not even Potter or Weaslebee.
Prometheus
P.S. Sorry about the above name calling. Weasley.
~~~
Prometheus,
Thank you for the book! Find attached my book on women in medicine, as well as a few others I think you’ll enjoy. I didn’t know you were fascinated by Muggle medicine, otherwise I would have sent you some books earlier in the summer.
Yes, I would love to help! And I can keep a secret. I’ve been keeping them for years.
Athena
P.S. No need to apologize - old habits die hard
~~~
There was a certain level of free, comfortable conversation that Malfoy afforded Hermione. He was far less judgmental than the boys and he encouraged her swotish habits. He sent her books, always with a note tucked inside to tell her certain pages and chapters he thought she might find particularly interesting. He was thoughtful like that, something Hermione hadn’t expected from him.
Over that first month of summer, Hermione and Malfoy had gotten close. As close as two people could over letters back and forth - Hermione eventually told Malfoy about the complicated relationship with her parents. He’d told her about his parents and the quiet, lonely feeling of the Manor during those long holidays he was home, before Theo began to join the Malfoys for his own breaks. They shared books and stories, and Hermione sent Malfoy too many Muggle toys and gadgets for it to be funny anymore, but he enjoyed them all the same.
And now this. Hermione stared at the leather bound journal in her hands, her most recent package from Malfoy. It was one she recognized. Black, smooth front and back, stabbed through and warped from water damage. It was the cursed journal from their second year, the one Ginny had been possessed by, and the one Harry had destroyed.
Malfoy was trying to repair it, to see if there was anything in it. She had no idea how Malfoy had come to own it, but his father had told him it was once the journal of a powerful wizard. Malfoy was sure there was something more to the story. His father refused to tell him anything else, though, and so Malfoy was trying to work on the thing himself. He was a powerful wizard in his own regard, with impressive notes on the matter.
Well, now he had a little help. First thing’s first, Hermione needed to do some research on what Basilisk venom did to paper, to magic, and to whatever it was possessed in the book that had caused all the drama with Ginny to begin with.
It certainly was a project, and that’s what she had asked for. A part of Hermione - the part that sounded like Harry Potter - wanted to throw the thing in a fire, to destroy whatever last vestiges of the journal remained here on her desk. The other part of her, though - the one that was undeniably and entirely her own self - wanted to try and fix it. It yearned for a challenge, for a chance to work with something Dark and unusual. Something new. Something she could be challenged with, something she could learn from.
And she'd told him she could keep a secret. She'd told him she could handle this, and Hermione didn't go back on her word.
Hermione sighed and set the journal aside, standing up and stretching. Back to Diagon Alley then. She needed some more specific books for this project, and she wasn't going to find them in Flourish and Blotts.